Part 11 (1/2)

”If you ketch a trout on thet I'll swaller the pole!” he exclaimed.

I stooped low and approached the spring, being careful to keep out of sight.

”You forgot to spit on yer bait, kid,” said Bill.

They all laughed in a way to rouse my ire. But despite it I flipped the bait into the water with the same old thrilling expectancy.

The bait dropped with a little spat. An arrowy shadow, black and gold, flashed up. Splas.h.!.+ The line hissed. Then I jerked hard. The pole bent double, wobbled, and swayed this way and that. The fish was a powerful one; his rushes were like those of a heavy ba.s.s. But never had a ba.s.s given me such a struggle. Every instant I made sure the tackle would be wrecked. Then, just at the breaking-point, the fish would turn. At last he began to tire. I felt that he was rising to the surface, and I put on more strain. Soon I saw him; then he turned, flas.h.i.+ng like a gold bar. I led my captive to the outlet of the spring, where I reached down and got my fingers in his gills. With that I lifted him. d.i.c.k whooped when I held up the fish; as for me, I was speechless. The trout was almost two feet long, broad and heavy, with s.h.i.+ny sides flecked with color.

Herky-Jerky celebrated my luck with a generous outburst of enthusiasm, whereupon his comrades reminded him of his offer to swallow my fis.h.i.+ng pole.

I put on a fresh bait and instantly hooked another fish, a smaller one, which was not so bard to land. The spring hole was full of trout. They made the water boil when I cast. Several large ones tore the hook loose; I had never dreamed of such fis.h.i.+ng. Really it was a strange situation.

Here I was a prisoner, with Greaser or Bud taking turns at holding the other end of the la.s.so. More than once they tethered me up short for no other reason than to torment me. Yet never in my life had I so enjoyed fis.h.i.+ng.

By-and-by Bill and Herky-Jerky left the camp. I heard Herky tell Greaser to keep his eye on the stew-pots, and it occurred to me that Greaser had better keep his eye on Ken Ward. When I saw Bud lie down I remembered what d.i.c.k had whispered. I pretended to be absorbed in my fis.h.i.+ng, but really I was watching Greaser. As usual, he was smoking, and appeared listless, but he still held on to the la.s.so.

Suddenly I saw a big blue revolver lying on a stone and I could even catch the glint of bra.s.s sh.e.l.ls in the cylinder. It was not close to Bud nor so very close to Greaser. If he should drop the la.s.so! A wild idea possessed me--held me in its grip. Just then the stew-pot boiled over.

There was a sputter and a cloud of steam, Greaser lazily swore in Mexican; he got up to move the stew-pot and dropped the la.s.so.

When he reached the fire I bounded up, jerking the la.s.so far behind me. I ran and grabbed the revolver. Greaser heard me and wheeled with a yell. Bud sat up quickly. I pointed the revolver at him, then at Greaser, and kept moving it from one side to the other.

”Don't move! I'll shoot!” I cried.

”Good boy!” yelled d.i.c.k. ”You've got the drop. Keep it, Ken, keep it!

Don't lose your nerve. Edge round here and cut me loose.... Bud, if you move I'll make him shoot. Come on, Ken.”

”Greaser, cut him loose!” I commanded the snarling Mexican.

I trembled so that the revolver wabbled in my hand. Trying to hold it steadied, I squeezed it hard. Bang! It went off with a bellow like a cannon. The bullet scattered the gravel near Greaser. His yellow face turned a dirty white. He jumped straight up in his fright.

”Cut him loose!” I ordered.

Greaser ran toward d.i.c.k.

”Look out, Ken! Behind you! Quick!” yelled d.i.c.k.

I beard a crunching of gravel. Even as I wheeled I felt a tremendous pull on the la.s.so and I seemed to be sailing in the air. I got a blurred glimpse of Herky-Jerky leaning back on the taut la.s.so. Then I plunged down, slid over the rocks, and went souse into the spring.

X. ESCAPE

Down, down I plunged, and the shock of the icy water seemed to petrify me. I should have gone straight to the bottom like a piece of lead but for the la.s.so. It tightened around my chest, and began to haul me up.

I felt the air and the light, and opened my eyes to see Herky-Jerky hauling away on the rope. When he caught sight of me he looked as if ready to dodge behind the bank.

”Whar's my gun?” he yelled.

I had dropped it in the spring. He let the la.s.so sag, and I had to swim.